


to live in ashes

by hyperlydian



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, everyone cries and everyone dies, is it possible character death, or is it just a long extended metaphor, part quatre, vintage hyperlydian angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperlydian/pseuds/hyperlydian
Summary: "make a wish," he says, and jongin thinks of hot springs and pain killers and raindrops falling on the dry skin of his face.





	to live in ashes

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by [this amazing edit](http://oppalesced.tumblr.com/post/28936482968) by mirinae on tumblr.
> 
> still best if read while listening to still corner's [velveteen](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-_STk3agWM)

the scab on his back is about four inches long, dark red and crusted over in the mirror, and jongin winces as some of it flakes off onto his fingertips, skin still damp from the shower.  
  
he had discovered the injury a few days before, having stayed after dance practice to work through some new choreography for their next video, torso twisting and leaning back almost impossibly for another body roll. pain had shot up his spine at the motion, straight from his old injury as if his back was being sliced open. jongin had stopped, gasping for breath as his stomach heaved from the pain.  
  
limping over to where he water bottle was lying, he had reached behind himself to press against where the pain had started in the hopes of dimming it a little. instead, jongin had felt a dampness through his shirt that couldn’t have been sweat, shirt sticking to the spot in a way that made his damp body turn cold. he had slipped his hand underneath the fabric and when he brought it away, his fingertips were bloody.  
  
he hadn’t told anyone — none of them ever did when it came to things like this, just in case it gave the company a reason to cut them out of promotions or got back to their fans — but the image of his blood-slicked hand, the feeling of the open wound on his back, as though the shell of his skin had been split open, cracked, his own face chalky pale when he had looked up at the mirror…  
  
that still hasn’t gone away.  
  
  
  
  
he bandages the cut up for a few days until it scabs over, and every time he removes the covering, the white material is stained a dark maroon, verging on brown, and the spot of dried blood seems bigger than before. soon though, it dries over enough for him to leave it bare underneath his clothes. still, every time he moves, he can feel it pull, threatening to break and tear open.  
  
luckily, the photo shoot they do the next day doesn’t require him to be shirtless and so he sits, trying to ignore the way the scab is itching through his shirt as his makeup is caked on.  
  
“your skin is dry,” the makeup artist scolds. “you should be better about putting on your moisturizer.”  
  
“i am,” jongin mutters as she frowns at a flaking patch of skin on his chin, gripping his jaw tightly with her claw-like fingernails.  
  
jongin hates the makeup he has to wear, layers of bb cream slathered on to cover up his stubbornly bad skin. he feels suffocated by it, like the subject of an oil painting, as if it would take him years to dry, tempera cracking over time but unable to flake away because of the finishing varnish.  
  
“okay, you’re done,” the makeup artist says finally, still frowning at him, and shoos him towards the set. some of the others, sehun and junmyeon, have just finished getting their hair styled, and they stand behind the camera and computer displays as he pouts at the lens.  
  
he feels tired, the pain from his back having kept him awake for the past few nights, but the bright lights shining down on the set sear into his retinas and force his eyes open. the photographer seems to like the half-lidded look he’s giving off, though, snapping shot after shot as jongin props his feet up on the desk, fingers tugging at his tie. he isn’t even there, mind tucked in between the soft sheets of his childhood bed, back when he was allowed to sleep as long as he had wanted, so it takes him a little bit to notice how sehun and junmyeon’s whispers have gone from joking to serious, both of them staring at the display screens with confused expressions.  
  
when sehun comes in to join him on the set, moving to perch on the sill of the fake window, fingertips brushing jongin’s nape as he passes, jongin asks, “what were you and junmyeon talking about?”  
  
sehun shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “one or two of the pictures came out weird. i think there’s something wrong with the camera.”  
  
“weird how?”  
  
“your skin looked kind of transparent in one of the shots. double exposed probably.” he finally looks jongin in the eye, reaching over to fix his tie. “there were plenty of good ones though, don’t worry.”  
  
jongin feels his mouth lift into a half smile, gaze fixated on the shape of sehun’s lips when —  
  
the camera clicks again and the photographer praises, “perfect! more just like that!”  
  
  
  
  
jongin’s lips are dry and chapped, skin peeling away, and he can't help but pick at it until the dry bits come off and leave behind parts that bleed. sehun gives him chapstick, and junmyeon gives him chapstick, and when they see each other, wu fan lets him borrow his carmex, but they never seem to get any less dry.  
  
when he kisses sehun, sometimes all he can feel are the broken places where the skin can no longer stay together.  
  
  
  
  
they’ve all perfected the art of sleeping with their eyes open over the past year, cheeks propped up on palms and airplane windows, and on their way to china, jongin dozes, lids never fully closing to shut out the pale light of the aircraft interior. he can still hear chanyeol snoring quietly next to him, but he dreams that he is made of sawdust, that he is a piece of paper hung in a window, yellowing and disintegrating in the sunlight, that he is a sponge, lying unused on the edge of a sink until he is dry and cracked and someone throws him away. jongin’s subconscious imagines a world where everyone is made of paper and he’s burned as a sacrifice to the gods, body turning to black carbon in the wake of yellowed flame.  
  
when chanyeol elbows him to tell him that the drink cart is passing, he jerks awake and asks for some water, sinuses parched from the recycled air. the drink is cool in his hand, ice cubes rattling in the plastic cup, but when he lifts it to take a drink, all he can taste is ashes.  
  
  
  
  
sehun watches jongin pick at his breakfast one morning, small sighs escaping his lips every few minutes. he can tell junmyeon is growing more and more frustrated with him with every exhale and finally, the leader snaps, "just eat your breakfast, jongin, or leave the table."  
  
jongin shoves his bowl. “i don't want to eat it."  
  
"then go get your things ready for today and stop wasting food."  
  
“i don't want to do anything. i’m too tired." jongin sounds petulant, like a small child, but sehun can see the real weariness there, like the harsh grind of bone creaking against bone.  
  
junmyeon doesn’t let him get away with it though. “if you wanted to do nothing then you shouldn’t have become an idol. you can sleep in the van."  
  
jongin’s mouth goes hard. "fine."  
  
pushing his chair back noisily, jongin stalks off towards his room.  
  
junmyeon put his head in his hands, sighing, before looking up at sehun as though he could explain.  
  
sehun searches for the right words. “he’s just... tired.”  
  
junmyeon is usually so understanding, but his good humor has been worn down by months without a break, and there are lines around his eyes that didn’t used to be there. his lips flatline even though his eyes still look sad, and he says, “so is everyone else."  
  
  
  
  
the pounds of makeup he’s required to put on everyday is clearly taking a toll on his skin and each night jongin is careful to remove it, cotton swabs filling the bathroom trash can. he tries to exfoliate before he puts on his moisturizer, like the dermatologist told him, but he never feels like his face is clean, each scrub peeling off more and more dead skin, layers sloughing off like a snake’s.  
  
he takes more showers now too, unable to explain when his bandmates ask why, because his skin feels flakey and dried out, as if his body is constantly covered in the residue of his own skin cells, shedding them as they slip off and turn to dust.  
  
  
  
  
"jongin," baekhyun comes into his room, sounding irritated, "next time you use my hairbrush, you could at least clean it out before putting it back."  
  
he holds the brush out to jongin and jongin takes it, walking slowly over to the trash can and pulling the hairs out of the bristles. he’s not sure how baekhyun even noticed that it was his hair instead of baekhyun’s own, except that there seems to be an awful lot of it, each strand falling into the trash can to form a little dark pile.  
  
when he's done, he hands it back to baekhyun, saying, “sorry, hyung."  
  
baekhyun’s frown softens slightly at the sight of jongin’s tired face and he pats the younger boy’s shoulder. "it's okay."  
  
  
  
  
they’re all together at an event, a signing maybe, when luhan taps him on the shoulder.  
  
He points to jongin’s cheek. "you have an eyelash," he says, smiling brightly.  
  
nimble fingers reach up to pick it off his cheekbone and jongin can hear the fangirls start to whisper. still grinning, luhan holds his index finger in front of jongin’s face, small dark eyelash balancing on its tip.  
  
"make a wish," he says, and jongin thinks of hot springs and pain killers and raindrops falling on the dry skin of his face. of sehun’s hands running up and down his sides and the insides of his thighs, and life without minute or second hands.  
  
the fangirls all squeal loudly as he puckers his lips and blows, and the eyelash disappears from luhan’s fingertip into the air.  
  
  
  
  
the next time, it’s minseok who points the eyelash out, but instead, jongin just brushes it away because he’s about to dance and he’s a celebrity and what is there left to wish for.  
  
  
  
  
walking through the airport is always a trial, hoards of fans pushing and shoving to get a better look at their idols, and they’re expected to take it all with a bow and a smile.  
  
jongin thinks he might like fame most of the time, seeing his face everywhere, hearing people scream his name and swoon when he dances, but he can’t stand the airport. the crowd is crushing, pressing in so close that he feels like there’s no air and sometimes he wonders if it might be his destiny to suffocate and die surrounded by crazed fans.  
  
he wonders if _this_ is fame.  
  
one trip, they are all walking through the airport together and jongin has a black cap pulled low over his eyes to block them from the imminent flashbulbs of the cameras. sehun is in front of him, joking with baekhyun, chanyeol and kyungsoo, and junmyeon is talking quietly with their manager about schedules and when they turn the corner to see the crowd of fans, jongin’s stomach clenches. it’s a basic fight or flight instinct, and he fists his hands in his pockets, ignoring it as he follows his bandmates into the crowd.  
  
it’s strange, though, because no one tries to grab him or take his picture or scream his own name in his ear, and instead of feeling relieved by the strange anonymity, jongin is terrified.  
  
pushing forward, he manages to grab onto chanyeol’s wrist as it swings out in a wave. the taller boy stares at him for a moment in incomprehension before his face breaks out in a smile. jongin can’t hear what chanyeol says over the din, but it’s something along the lines of, _wondered where you were!_ and he just barely manages to keep his hold when the crowd surges, screams of _kai_ and _kim jongin_ reaching his ears, and he is blinded by flashbulbs before he has a chance to tell chanyeol he was right there the whole time.  
  
  
  
  
jongin knows there's something wrong with the cut on his back. when he studies the scab in the mirror each day, he begins to notice that the edges look strange, jagged like torn paper instead of severed flesh. even stranger is the way it won't seem to heal, pieces of the scab drying and flaking away from the edges every time he touches it, only to be replaced the very next day.  
  
he starts to notice the bruises too, blue and yellowed patches on his shins and torso where he had clumsily bumped into a table or tripped getting out of the van.  
  
he always makes sure the lights are off whenever sehun strips him out of his clothes, not wanting the other boy to see the bruises he leaves after they fuck, sehun’s hipbones carving deep black marks into the skin of his inner thighs with every thrust inside.  
  
it hurts, but jongin almost likes it that way, sehun’s fingernails cutting into the back of his neck as he holds jongin down against the bed, the sound of their skin slapping together mixing with his own dry cries, and then after, when sehun drags his fingers through his own cum in the small on jongin’s back, leaning over to press kisses next to his ears and across his shoulders as he pulls out.  
  
sehun seems to understand that what jongin wants, needs, is not to be degraded, but held tightly enough so he can feel something.  
  
  
  
  
sehun is in his room, waiting for his turn in the shower, when he hears a scream come from the bathroom. junmyeon, baekhyun and chanyeol have already left for their own schedules and so it is just kyungsoo that sehun meets on his way to the bathroom door. the older boy’s shoulders sag with relief when he sees sehun and he says, “i think — i think it was jongin."  
  
“i’ll talk to him," sehun says, hand already on the doorknob, and he enters without waiting for kyungsoo’s answer.  
  
the shower is still running, steam fogging the mirror, but other than that, the room is silent.  
  
"jongin?" he calls softly, nothing like the scream that had come before, shattering the mist and air molecules of the bathroom. there is no answer and sehun tries again. "jongin? it’s me, sehun.”  
  
he pushes back the shower curtain slightly, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees jongin still standing under the spray.  
  
his hair looks like it’s just been washed, soaked and slicked back from jongin’s face. sehun reaches out and touches his shoulder lightly. "jongin? you okay? i heard you scream."  
  
as though he’s coming out of a trance, jongin turns his head to look at sehun and he sees that jongin’s lips are trembling, cheeks pale even under the hot water of the shower. lifting up one of his hands, he uncurls his fingers to show sehun what he's holding.  
  
"it's my hair," he whispers, almost inaudible over the noise of the water and sehun stares down at the dark clump in jongin’s hand uncomprehendingly.  
  
“i went to rinse the conditioner out and i combed my fingers through and then it just ..."  
  
the pile is about the same as might fill a hairbrush, but it looks frightening balled up and wet in jongin’s palm.  
  
jongin’s hand is shaking and sehun grabs the wad of hair from him, squeezing it tight as he reaches around to shut off the shower. leading jongin out of the stall, he wraps him in a towel and walks him back to he and kyungsoo’s room. the other boy is nowhere to be found and he makes sure jongin is sitting safely on his bed before going out into the hallway and taking out his cell phone.  
  
  
  
  
the doctor they take him to says the sudden hair loss is due to stress, but jongin still refuses to shower for days, washing himself with a washcloth and his hair in the sink only when sehun makes him.  
  
sehun wasn’t allowed to go with jongin to the doctor’s office, but he noticed the healing cut on jongin’s back and the bruises. he took the clump of hair jongin had found in the shower and buried it at the bottom of a trash can, hoping that was the end of it.  
  
  
  
  
there is a soft knock on sehun’s door one night and kyungsoo pokes his head in, asking, “have you seen jongin? he’s not in his bed.”  
  
sehun sets down his computer. “no, i  haven’t seen him since dinner.”  
  
kyungsoo shrugs and starts to close the door  but stops for a second. “is jongin… alright?”  
  
“what do you mean?”  
  
he shrugs again, saying, “he seems really tired lately, and i saw him on one of the fansites the other day. he just… never does that and he started talking about strange pictures and overexposure, and i just wondered, is all.”  
  
the pictures of jongin from their magazine photo shoot flash through sehun’s mind, the background of the office set visible through jongin’s skin as though he were a ghost, transparent. he pushes the thought away. “you’re the one that lives with him. you’d know better than i would.”  
  
kyungsoo looks at him shrewdly. “we both know that isn’t true.”  
  
his face coloring, sehun swallows and says, “i’ll talk to junmyeon about it, see if he can get jongin some time off. that might help.”  
  
kyungsoo nods, closing the door behind him as he leaves and sehun’s throat scratches like rough sandpaper.  
  
  
  
  
the week before, jongin had been on his way to the kitchen for some water, early morning quiet of the dorm covering his steps like a blanket. he passed the mirror at the end of the hall, eyes glancing at his reflection almost out of habit -- only this time there was nothing there.  
  
his breath had caught, stomach rising up to become twisted with his windpipe as he backtracked.  
  
his face was there again, but not as it should have been, skin faint in the reflection, as though lit by cloudlight, and without thinking, jongin had raised his fist and punched the mirror. the surface had cracked but did not shatter, and he could hear himself screaming, the skin of his knuckles broken and blood trailing down his arm.  
  
the doors down the hallway had flown open, the other boys having been startled from sleep by the noise, and sehun was suddenly by his side, cradling his injured hand and yelling at him, other hand shaking jongin’s shoulders. jongin couldn’t hear what sehun was saying over the ringing in his ears, the feeling of the skin of his knuckles being broken and scraped off by the shards of glass replaying in slow motion in his mind, until everything suddenly sped up, the moments he had missed passing in double time, and sehun was still shaking him, the rest of his bandmates standing around, faces terrified, as sehun yelled at him, “jongin, you have to _wake up!_ ”  
  
  
  
  
jongin is lying in his bed, staring at the shapes the streetlights make on the ceiling as he traces the still unhealed cuts on his hand, when kyungsoo comes back in through their door.  
  
“oh,” his roommate says, staring at him, and jongin sits up slightly to look back.  
  
“what?”  
  
“i was looking for you everywhere just now. where were you?”  
  
kyungsoo looks worried, gnawing at the skin of his lower lip as he waits for an answer. jongin just feels cold, goosebumps rising on the bare skin of his arms, and says, “i’ve been here the whole time.”  
  
  
  
  
“those pictures that were weird of me the a few weeks ago…”  
  
sehun is drawing random patterns on jongin’s back, avoiding his cut, as they lie together in bed. “you mean at the photo shoot? what about them?”  
  
“you said they were probably over exposed, but that camera was digital — “  
  
“then it was something else,” sehun insists. “it was just a fluke, some weird thing. you should forget about it.” he doesn’t want jongin thinking about these kinds of things when he’s like this.  
  
“but sometimes — “ jongin digs his fingers into sehun’s shirt, twisting the fabric frantically as though begging sehun to listen to him. “sometimes i feel like people _can_ see through me. my skin keeps flaking off like it’s dried out and the other day, i went to go grab my water bottle and my hand went through it and i — “  
  
sehun strokes his hair almost viciously, trying to calm him. “i’m sure you were just tired. forget about it. you need to sleep.”  
  
“i can’t sleep!” jongin cries, tears slipping out of his eyes and down the bridge of his nose and sehun feels sick. he’s never seen jongin like this and it’s frightening. “my back hurts so much i can’t fall asleep but even when i do i have these dreams where my skin melts off or evaporates or i’m being erased, a giant pencil eraser crushing me until i can’t breathe — “  
  
he’s shaking now, fingers holding so tight sehun is afraid his shirt might tear, and he pulls jongin into him, wrapping himself around the other boy until his sobs are muffled into his chest.  
  
“it’s going to be okay,” sehun promises. “i’ll still be here when you wake up.”  
  
  
  
  
back when they were trainees, sehun had attached himself to jongin, desperate to make a friend who would stay around, who knew how to be successful, who had that something that would take him the extra mile.  
  
now, jongin clings to sehun, listening to his heartbeat as it thrums through his ears, and can’t find the air to say that sehun disappearing isn’t what he’s afraid of.  
  
  
  
  
the next morning, sehun wakes up in his bed and he’s still there, but all he's left with is an armful of dust. _  
_


End file.
